When You Are Dean Winchester, Even Paradise Sucks
by smalld1171
Summary: The brothers travel to Paradise, a town where patrons to the new pub can leave their troubles behind. The catch? First you have to face them head on. When you happen to be Dean Winchester, facing your issues can be enough to kill you. *ON HIATUS"
1. Chapter 1

**Hello to everyone out there in fanfiction land! I have not quite finished my other story but before I knew it a new one popped right into my noggin. So, I thought I better get it out there to see if anyone feels it would be worth pursuing. Let me know what you think if you are so inclined, comments are a very good motivation to continue. Of course I don't own anything associated with SPN, just having a little fun. Thanks to any and all who take a look. :)**

The Winchester brothers sit in their usual surroundings, a cheap motel room on the edge of another small town. Dean is busy eating some sort of fast food concoction they picked up and Sam sits at the table, laptop open, eyes scanning the screen looking for their next gig. The boys had just finished a tough job south of here, both brothers wearing the usual cuts and bruises associated with their particular line of work. As per usual, the older of the two took the worst of it. A nasty cut stands out on Dean's hairline and he is still a bit shaky and slow moving but also, as per usual, he won't admit that it is anything he can't handle. He's always fine.

Sam doesn't really want to start looking for yet another foe to defeat. He feels they both need, more so his brother, to rest, recuperate and just chill for a day or two. But, ever since his older brother returned from his trip down under, he hardly takes even a fleeting moment to relax. Even though he has just been toe to toe with yet another pissed off member of the undead, Sam knows his brother is anxious to find another creepy crawly to keep his mind on hunting and nothing else. The younger of the two wants to tell him that even super duper killing machine Dean needs to rest, to sleep, to let his wounds heal. But Sam also knows that his brother's sleep has been elusive since his return and that it's only physical wounds that have a chance to be healed right now. He knows any suggestion to rest would only be met by the usual bout of sarcasm and stubbornness. It won't be until Dean decides that he can't continue, or until his body makes the decision for him, that he will stop.

Sam continues his gaze at his computer and audibly makes a noise when he stumbles across something kinda weird, and that gets Dean's attention immediately. The older brother stands, makes his way to where his brother sits, and hovers just behind him. Sam glances at him over his shoulder and doesn't like what he sees. Dean looks beat. Not only in the just got my ass kicked by the undead kind of beat but like a man coming to the end of his rope, on the verge of utter collapse. He hates when he looks like that. Soon it will happen, soon Dean will falter and Sam will need to pick him up. He doesn't mind of course but he wishes it wouldn't take utter and complete mental and physical fatigue for his brother to let his guard down.

By the look on Dean's face however, Sam knows he didn't come over to him for a heart to heart conversation but rather to find out what has sparked the younger brother's interest. It's another chance for distraction from the secrets he is keeping, another reason not to face what has happened to him. Another reason to avoid Sam's questions and concern about his well being. The nut will crack though, it is only a matter of time.

"Got somethin' Sammy? Or did you finally discover the awesomeness that is Busty Asian Beauties?" Dean had seen his brother look at him as he came over and didn't like the mother hen type stare he had given him. Give it a rest, I am fine. Just a flesh wound. Well, maybe fine isn't the right word but I am dealing. Dean knows he looks like shit. He knows that his brother knows he hasn't been sleeping much, that he has been drinking too much and that he has been upping his usual level of bravado and kick ass attitude to hide the pain he is in. The facade is wearing a little thin, even to Dean. He just needs to keep things together. He just needs to keep working, keep on the hunt, keep saving people and then he will be fine again. After he saves every single person out there that is being harassed by something unearthly or inhuman. Then he will finally be fine. Nothing irrational about that right?

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother and sighs. "Yup, you caught me Dean. I finally gave in, wanted to see what the big deal was with this porn obsession of yours." Pause. "Please man, give me a break, I like to live in a little place I like to call reality and when I want to see a naked woman well, I like her to be in the same room with me. Jerk." Why oh why Sam? Why would you feed the fire? You know he is just babbling, trying to avoid any kind of real talking, and you once again have fallen for it. Damn, he is good.

"Okay, okay... stop being such an emotional bitch Sammy. I guess your statement just means that you haven't been in the mood to see naked chicks for the last what, 4 years that we have been on the road together? Okay, truce. Just, keep the eye rolling to a minimum dude, you never know, they may end up stuck like that." Dean concludes with a snicker and looks back to Sam's computer. "So if it's not naked women that has you groaning over here then what the hell is it?"

Back at it we go. Sam moves his chair so Dean can squeeze in beside him to have a look. The headline on the page reads 'Town of Paradise Lives Up To It's Name. Locals Say It's The Happiest Place in the Country'. "C'mon Sam, are we seriously going to start to check out places that are too happy now? Cuz, that would pretty much be anywhere that we ain't, right?" Dean sees another look shoot across at him from his brother and hears a mumbled response about being some kind of smart ass and to keep reading. Dean's eyes go back to the page and as he continues the hairs on the back of his neck start to prickle. Okay, so maybe Paradise might not be all it is cracked up to be after all. "So, let's get this straight. A new bar? That's the key to paradise on earth? Hmm, now that I think about it that doesn't seem that unbelievable. Okay, just stop with the looks Sam, your eyes are gonna bore a hole right through me. Anyways, this bar opens up in this sleepy town and all of a sudden shazam, all the locals swear that they can leave their troubles behind. Inside it? For real? It sounds weird alright but I don't know man, maybe it's just a town entirely made up of crackpots."

"Well it's the only interesting thing I have been able to find considering you can't stand still. Since you have me scouring these damned articles constantly in search of the next case." Sam lets out a pent up sigh. "But yeah, you could be right, you probably are. Just a crackpot infested country town that is excited that they finally have a watering hole to go to on a Friday night. I mean if you drink enough you probably do leave your troubles behind, at least for a while, right?" There is no reason why Sam can't unload some of his worries about Dean using the ammunition at his disposal. And right now it is in the form of this newspaper article. He knows that his brother can read between the lines of what he is saying and the tightness he sees in his brother's jaw tells him that he has. Sam won't press on though. "I'm thinking maybe we should just let this one slide and wait until something more up our alley comes along. Plus, this place is a good days drive away. I'd rather get some sleep than go chasing a case when there probably isn't one."

The older sibling can see right through the younger one's ploy. Dean resists the urge to make some kind of bitchy remark to Sam's obvious attempt to get him to defend his increasing need to unwind with several drinks. It's under control. He'll just pretend he didn't hear it and hope it just fades away in the distance. Dean doesn't really want to go on a wild goose chase either but something about this town doesn't feel right. Maybe it's his lack of sleep and exhaustion that is causing it but one thing he is absolutely sure of is that he does not want to stay here and wait for the next weirdish thing to make an appearance. "On the other hand Sammy, no reason why we can't check it out and see what this so called paradise has got going on. Hell, maybe we can leave our sordid pasts behind." Dean can't help it, he has to say something to Sam about his previous dig about drinking. "Maybe it's nothing but I wouldn't mind checking it out, and you obviously know me so well Sammy, cuz it'll give me a chance to go undercover, have a beer or maybe several at the place, to scope it out and see what I can see. Congratulations bro, you have just found our next case, our next destination, our next roadtrip! So, pack up your stuff and let's hit the highway dude."

"What? No way Dean. We just came off a job, we are tired and both need to recover. I know you are hurting and in far worse shape than me, that cut on your head looks painful. We can go in the morning but I am bagged and need to get some sleep."

"Sammy, believe me, I know how you get if you don't catch your beauty sleep, you turn all crabby and whiny and sound like a little girl and turn into just a general kind of wuss. And let me tell ya dude, cuz I am in the know, it is annoying beyond belief. I mean really, can you even hear yourself when you haven't had your full eight hours? Not to mention that when you don't get the proper amount of zee's, I'm sorry to say it Sam, but you really do look like shit. I, on the other hand, need very little and can manage to maintain my charm and charisma and, as many a lady can attest, my looks never seem to suffer. I'm all for you getting your required shut eye Sammy but the thing is, right now I am wide awake, wired and raring to go. So I'll drive, you sleep."

It is a never ending battle and Sam never seems to come out as the victor. Stubborn, arrogant, smart ass Dean always has to have his way. It's pointless to even start up some kind of retort, some sort of logical rebuttal as to why this is not a good idea, it will just be a waste of breath. As his brother stares at him, Sam knows that Dean needs nothing more than to get back out there, to look ahead to something that will keep his memories at bay, and Sam once again relents. "Yeah, yeah, okay Dean. I just need a minute okay? To wash up and take a leak and have a good stretch before I am cramped up in that motel on wheels of yours again." As he heads for a bathroom Sam thinks he hears Dean mutter a soft Thanks Sammy at his retreating back.

Get ready Paradise, the boys are coming to town.

**TBC?...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone! I was on a bit of a hiatus on this story but I have found my mojo again and a plan that includes angst-o-plenty for our boys! I hope that any who have a look will enjoy. Thanks for reading and please, comments would be a lovely surprise! :)**

The brothers head to the Impala without a word. Sam reluctantly slides into the passenger seat and scrutinizes his brother when he sees him squeeze his eyes shut followed by a wince of pain that dances across his face. This is a really, really bad idea. Sam can't shake the feeling that Paradise is a town they should just leave alone. That is isn't worth investigating. But, looking again towards his brother Sam sees that the wall has been put back up, the pain he saw a moment ago completely absorbed by the all so familiar Dean Winchester mask of denial. Sam accepts that the two brothers will be heading to that town. Now. But, he decides he has to try one more time to get his brother out of this idea.

"Dean, are you sure you are okay to drive? I know that your head is killing you and don't try to deny it, I can see it." Sam watches his brother turn to him with his usual gaze of dead set determination. Before he has a chance to start an argument Sam just raises his hands. "Okay, okay, whatever. Just promise me you will pull over and wake me up if you need a break. Okay? Dean?"

"Yeah yeah Sammy. Sheesh, melodramatic much? I'm fine so let's stop with the mother hen routine and get out of here. Ready?" Dean sees the nod and starts up his baby. He just needs to keep moving along, heading off to the next case. He needs to concentrate on something else. Something other than Hell. And yes, his head hurts but he can still drive. He promises himself he will pull over if he has to. He may be stubborn but he isn't going to risk Sammy's life just because he is having issues. He won't put Sam in danger. For anything.

Sam tries. He does. He is so bloody tired. He wants to sleep. He needs to rest. But he can't. He worries about his brother, about the fact that his older sibling has hardly slept in days. About the fact that he has a gash on his head that must be hurting like a son of a bitch. About the fact that Dean can not yet bring himself to talk about his experience in Hell. He closes his eyes, tries to lull himself to slumber as he listens to the roar of the Impala's engine and the sound of tires upon pavement. He isn't sure if he actually did drift off but he is pulled from his moment of peace by a soft groan as it escapes from Dean. He pries an eye, or two, open and looks to the direction of the sound. Dean is there. Right hand on the wheel, knuckles a very unnatural shade of white. His left hand grips onto his head and Sam sees he is trying to massage his temple in an obvious attempt to thwart the pain that has built up inside. Okay, Dean is done in that driver's seat. Now.

"Time to switch Dean. You need to rest your head. And your eyes. C'mon bro, pull over and let me drive." Sam feels a tad perplexed and his worry quotient ups itself a notch or several when he sees and feels the car veer off to the side of the road. No fight. No complaint. No discussion. Dean just stops the car, puts it in park and goes to grab the handle of the door. Sam thinks he hears a colourful expletive or two as his brother slowly, too slowly, exits the vehicle and starts to move to the other side. Sam gets out quickly and meets up with his brother as he comes around the car. "Are you doing alright Dean?" Silence. "Dean? Let's get you inside and then I'll get you some pills. You need to take care of that monster headache that I am sure you are sporting right now. Okay man?" This time he is greeted with a nod and as Dean takes his new position in the car, Sam heads off in search of the duffel and the pain meds. He knows Dean must really be hurting to be this quiet. If there is one thing his big brother is not, it's quiet, and that is not a very comforting thought to the youngest Winchester.

Dean sits in the passenger seat and waits for Sammy to return. His brother is right. He is hurting in all kinds of ways right now. How did Sammy know that he was just contemplating pulling over like at almost the same exact time that Sammy urged him to do so? Dean scoffs at that. Man, they really must be spending too much time together, if they can sense each other's thoughts. Kinda creepy. Dean opens his eyes but quickly clenches them shut again to try and ward off the sudden explosion of pain and black spots on his vision that the action creates. Okay, so, eyes stay closed for the time being. Check. He hears Sam's soft voice beside him moments later. "Hey Dean. Still okay?" Dean doesn't want to talk so he settles for giving his brother another nod instead. The throbbing in his head is increasing and he just wants to medicate himself. From the pain. Physical and mental. "Dean? Here, take these, they will help that hard head of yours." Dean cracks his eyes open to a slit and looks at the offered pills in Sam's hand. He grabs them shakily and pops them in his mouth. He takes a swig of water and thinks that a shot of whiskey or a whole bottle would be much better in this situation. The pills, they would work faster then. Dean hears a sigh from beside him and concludes that he must not of kept that last comment on the inside, he must have used his outside voice. Oops, let the lecture begin. "Um, sorry dude, no whiskey for you. Not with the pills." Pause. "Okay, just relax and try to sleep."

Sam leaves his brother's side and gets behind the wheel. He just doesn't know what to do to help. Dean is so stubborn and so willing to keep all his emotions bottled up inside. Sam really gets frustrated, he knows Dean doesn't want to be a burden to him. Doesn't want to make Sam suffer in any way. But, God, Dean will implode, and soon, if he doesn't stop his experiences from consuming him. Sam sighs. He knows Dean is in pain and is thankful that at the very least his brother may be able to get some sleep. But, Sam also feels a bit disturbed about his brother's increasing dependence on alcohol. He didn't want to press the topic right now but they will need to talk about it. He has seen Dean drink himself into a stupor before. When a hunt goes badly, when they get there too late and an innocent pays with their life. Sam doesn't blame him for wanting to escape from reality in those circumstances. Hell, Sam has done that a time or two as well. But, ever since Dean has returned, his drinking is a constant. Sure, maybe he doesn't get falling down drunk every day but he does need to drink every single day. He thinks that Sam doesn't know, that he is oblivious to all his secret stashes. In his duffel. In the car. In the motel rooms. Under the bed. But Sam does know and at some point they are going to have one hell of an argument about it. But now right now, right now the older brother needs to sleep. Needs to rest.

Dean leans back on the seat. He listens to the hum of his baby and begins to feel the pills work their magic on his physical pain. His body starts to relax as the stab of pain in his head starts to numb, starts to fade into the background. He doesn't know why but the next emotion he feels is one of fear. Why would he be afraid? He's safe. He's in his car. He's on the road. With Sammy. As he begins to feel the pull of sleep, the pills working to shut his body down from wakefulness into slumber his panic starts to rise. No! Now he knows the reason for his fear. He can't. He can't live through it again. He has to stay awake, he can't let sleep take him. He doesn't want to go back. Not to Hell. No. NO! He yells at himself, willing his body to wake up, for him to open his eyes and leave the memories buried deep. He opens his eyes and immediately knows he is not awake. He is in a dream. He tells himself over and over again it is just a dream. That it is not real. That he is not in Hell anymore. But, as he stares into the pit. Into Hell itself. As he sees tortured soul after tortured soul looking at him with accusing eyes and hateful sneers, the faint grasp he had on reality is erased in an instant and he is sucked into the very heart of despair. Into the abyss. Into his own personal Hell.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Howdy! Thanks for coming back for another chapter of this tale. I hope you will enjoy and come back for more! If you have a moment drop me a line to let me know what you think. Thanks again for taking a look! Until next time... :)**

Hell. He is in Hell. He feels his breath quicken and can hear the thump of his heart, the blood as it rushes through his veins. No. This is not right. I got out. I was saved. I can not be here. He feels sick and dizzy at the movement in the room, he's not even sure if it is a room. He can not discern any walls as the place is in constant motion. The souls of the damned. So many of them. They are everywhere. They snake along every inch of the place. They crawl and float and skitter and appear to Dean as though they are confined to do so for eternity. And they scream. At first the sound is just a jumble of incoherent noise. Of pain. He hears screams erupt from all sides of him and they seem to increase in volume with every passing second. Dean closes his eyes to try and fight the vertigo the lack of a focal point has stirred within him. He is frozen in this spot. His mind races at his efforts to figure out what to do. He does not know. He can't think. He is terrified. Then he hears something that would stop his frantically beating heart if he wasn't somewhere where a beating heart didn't really matter. Someone calls out to him. Above the ear piercing waves of pain that are being emanated by these souls, he hears his name. It is faint but it is still there. He feels a slight sense of relief and thinks he even feels a single tear roll down his face. Thank God, he is not alone. Someone is there to save him. Sammy?

* * *

From his place in the driver's seat Sam can see Dean flinch. He looks at him closer and detects a rapid increase of his intake of breath and he now wears a film of sweat on his face. And a tear? Sam cringes slightly and hopes that this is just a reaction to the headache and the pain meds and not something more. The younger brother sighs. He knows Dean has not been able to sleep properly since he came back and that he has been plagued by nightmares, but Sam has never actually witnessed one from the onset. Sure, he has been woken up by a sudden thrash or a small moan from his brother but is always assured it was just a bad dream and that he should go back to sleep. That he is fine. It really pisses Sam off sometimes. He knows that Dean does it on purpose. He never goes to sleep before Sam. And as hard as Sam tries to stay up, to beat his brother at his own game, he is always the first to pass out from pure exhaustion. Dean always goes to bed last and wakes up first. The only thing that gives away that he is not getting enough rest is the saucer sized bags under his eyes and the slight tremor that accompanies him. Dean thinks Sam doesn't see it. But he does. His brother needs to sleep.

* * *

"Hello?" His voice squeaks out into the cacophony of moans and echoes of screams of where he stands. "HELLO?" He listens. And then he shudders. And then he shivers when the realization hits him that there is now nothing but silence. Hell is quiet. The souls are quiet. He opens his eyes and the souls still move, but they make no sound. He hears his name again. But instead of feeling relief and hope, Dean is slammed with an almost unbelievable sense of horror. His name. The way it is said. Spit out with venom and hate.

* * *

Sam feels uneasy, and after he looks to his brother again, thinks tonight he may just find out why Dean wants to stay awake so badly. As hard as it might be, Sam may finally be on the verge of bearing witness to one of Dean's nightmares, his memories from Hell. Sam feels a bit nervous about the idea and hopes that the town he saw announced on a road sign a little while back is not too far away. Sam knows that Dean would never, in normal circumstances, allow his pain to be shown to anyone. Especially his baby brother. He always needs to keep Sam away from the horrors of things. But not this time. When they reach the next town the brothers are going to stop, and rest, and Dean is not going to weasel his way out.

* * *

"_Dean Winchester_..." the voice hisses with contempt. "_welcome home_."

God. No. As if on cue, every soul, every single one, stops in unison. And then turn towards him. He does a slow 360 degree spin to confirm that yes indeed, every single soul now looks directly at him. The mouths of the damned open and although their lips do not move, sound reverberates through them. The chant starts slow and methodical. _Dean Winchester. Welcome home. Dean Winchester. Welcome home._ Over and over again he hears his name spit out. The pitch and speed and volume increases and increases and increases until Dean has to cover his ears as the sound pierces into his mind. The sound of his name. Over and over again. It oozes out of these beings with such disdain, such anger that Dean finds himself on his knees. He rocks back and forth, his grip firm on his ears, as he tries desperately to lessen the sound. He cries. Openly. Tears stream down his face and he screams. "NO! STOP! PLEASE! SAMMY! HELP ME!"

Sam's heart jumps into his throat at the sound. Of his brother. Dean. As he screams. Sam leads the Impala to the side of the road and turns to his brother. Tears flow from his eyes and Sam hesitantly reaches out to touch his distressed brother on his forearm. "Dean? I'm here bro. I'm here. You are safe. I'm here." Wild green eyes open and look ahead, to the side, and behind. Sam had seen the eyes gaze in his direction but is pretty sure that his brother did not see him seated there.

Dean is confused. He opens his eyes and sees the fragments of Hell, of the souls start to dissipate. He looks everywhere he can think to. In front of him, to the sides, to the back. He continues his search. For the souls. He listens. Listens for the guttural sound of his name that had led him to the brink of insanity. The sounds. Gone. The screams. Gone. The mocking chant. Gone. Okay, he's okay. They have left him. For now. He feels a hold on his arm, its pressure increases and Dean feels a surge of fear run amok through him again. "Dean, hey man, look at me, I am right here." Sam. Sammy. He came. He saved me. Dean looks to his arm and finds a familiar looking Sasquatch sized hand holding it. His gaze then travels upwards and he looks into the eyes of his brother.

Sam has kept a close watch on his brother. He had seen confusion and panic and fear displayed on his features and now looks upon him as his gaze moves from his arm up towards Sam's face. The younger brother slowly sees recognition replace the wild look he had observed just moments ago. "You with me bro?" He sees a small nod from his brother followed by a swallow. And another.

Air. He needs air. He has to get out. Now. Dean grips the handle of the door and throws himself out of the car and lets out a groan as he hits the ground. He stays there, on all fours, tries to steady his breaths because he knows he is on the verge of a panic attack. Slowly. Slowly he feels the air filter through his mouth and into his lungs. And he can once again breathe. Thank God. Wait. He sees a pair of feet appear in his view and curses. Sam. Great. He remains where he is and waits. It isn't long before he sees a pair of concerned eyeballs meet him on his level and give him the once over.

"I'm okay Sam. I'm fine. Just... just a bad dream." Sam tries not to scoff at his brother's remark. He backs off from where his brother is positioned to give the older sibling a moment to get his bearings and stand. He is there however when there is a slight wobble and grabs Dean to make sure he doesn't fall down. "'M good Sammy. Just a little lightheaded. All good now." Sam watches Dean intently. Wonders what to say. What to do. How to help him.

Dean doesn't know what to do. The dreams. They are so real. He is so tired. Exhausted. Ready to collapse at any moment. But, if he does he will be right back into the heart of that awful place. He will be face to face again with the souls. With the damned. With himself. He needs a drink. He wants a drink. Something to numb the memories even for a little while. If he drinks enough he will sleep. He will ward off the dreams. The nightmares. He needs to sleep, to shut his mind off. And the only way he seems to be able to these days, without conjuring up images of Hell, is by way of alcoholic induction. He smirks a bit at his own silent comment and steadies himself against the car. After a brief moment he pushes off, ignores Sam's stares and makes his way to the trunk of the Impala. To his stash.

**TBC..**


	4. Chapter 4

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**Hi to all who have ventured into this story of mine. I hope that you will enjoy this latest chapter. I am going to try and post a new chapter each week, I have been a bit tardy as of late so I hope to do better now that I have typed it out loud... :) Please, let me know what you think of this story, comments do a world of good for the soul... Thanks again!**

* * *

Shit. Keys. Dean lets out a tired sigh as he reaches the trunk, as he realizes he has just been thwarted by something as simple as the absence of his damn keys. Awesome. He contemplates in his head whether he should just forget about it, or ask Sam nicely and politely to get his ass over here and open up the trunk for him. So he can get to the booze. Hmm, a lose lose kind of situation. He closes his eyes and leans his hands on the top of the trunk. The pain in his head starts to make itself known again and it starts to piss him off. Shit. Why is it that Dean Winchester can never, ever catch a break? Even one as simple as being able to have a god damned drink when he wants one? He keeps his eyes clenched and bristles when he hears the tell tale sound of feet as they rustle along the gravel at the side of the road. He starts to feel panic again, unsure of which course of action to take, and flinches at Sam's touch when he places a steady hand on his shoulder.

"Dean? What are you doing man?" Sam speaks softly because he has no clue what is going on in Dean's head. He needs to practice restraint, keep in mind that Dean is and has been acting a bit unpredictable, even by his standards, as of late. He will not allow Dean to get away with his typical I'm fine comment. It is so totally obvious that fine is not the term that can be used to describe the sight before him. Dean has his eyes shut, head down and when Sam leans in to get a better look he knows his brother is in pain. "Dean, listen, you should get back in the car, we need to find a place where you can get some sleep. You are wiped and you are hurt and you are starting to freak me out a little."

Dean doesn't know what to do. Does he just give in and head back to the car? Just to suffer through another night? Does he tell Sam about it? Does he scream and cry and flail his arms to get some sort of relief from the torment inside him? Does he share all of his experiences with his brother just for him to get sucked into the pit with him? He can't do any of those things. If he can somehow get to the liquid, to help drown out the chaos and the madness that swirls around him then he will be alright. Dean can't go to sleep without it. He knows if he does, all the souls of hell will come back to claim him. He can still hear the voices around him. _Dean Winchester. Welcome home. Dean Winchester. Welcome home. _Dean makes his decision. He needs to get his hands on it. On the the only thing that can help him.

Sam looks for some indication that his older sibling has heard him. He is getting a very distinctive and not so good vibe as it wafts off Dean. While he stands there and waits for some kind of response he notices the tremble begin. The rapid breaths. The colour of his brother's face as it turns from pale to deathly pale. "Whoa Dean, just relax. You are okay. Let me help you."

Dean screams inside his head. Sam just does not understand. Dean needs to numb the pain not bring it to the forefront by talking about it. He can't, he is not ready. He can't stop. He has to keep on the move. He can't stop. Ever. Dean feels his heart start a frantic beat inside him once again as the images rush to his mind. He needs to stop them. Stop the thoughts. Stop the emotions. Stop it all. Please Sam, don't make me do this. Please.

Wild and frantic eyes open and Sam resists the urge to just grab his brother and drag him back to the car. This is so not good. "NO! I can't... It's... please... we can not stop... we can't... I don't wanna sleep." Desperate eyes bore into Sam's face, the pure terror that displays itself across Dean's features is so intense that Sam finds he has the sudden urge to look away. But no, he won't, his brother needs him. Sam has to get Dean out of here and somewhere he can keep an eye on him.

As if Dean can read the thoughts that run through his brother's mind, he seems to snap out of it in an instant, do a complete 360, and make his way on back to that place called reality. He tries to lay on his most convincing and characteristic smile but it falls short. Way short. Sam does not buy it. At all. "It's okay Sammy, I'm okay. Sorry, it's just, man, those knocks to the head can sure play a number on a dude huh?" Pause. "So baby brother, hey would you mind, can you open up the trunk for me?" Sam is dumbfounded. The trunk?

"Yeah, oh...kay, sure Dean." Unsure if he likes this rapid change of emotions, but not wanting to make the situation worse by provoking an argument over the trunk of all things, Sam complies with Dean's request. It's just odd. Dean stands there with a child like look, a smile so wide, so bright that you would think he just caught sight of the presents under the tree on Christmas morning.

Dean's smile does not diminish as he charges through the contents of the trunk. It is then that it dawns on Sam. What it is that has his brother grinning like a mad idiot. What prize Dean's hands reach for. Whiskey. Damn it! Sam admonishes himself. He should have thrown the stuff out but he never, ever thought in a million years that Dean would get to this point. Where the thought of a drink obscures everyone and everything else from view. This behaviour is not typical of the brother he knows. And what worries Sam most is the fact that Dean does not seem to care that he allows this display to occur in front of his brother. It tears Sam up inside to watch the spectacle. To see his big, strong, brave and smart ass brother be reduced to this. The fact that Dean shows his weakness so readily, out in the open for all to see, just smells like a heap of trouble to the younger sibling. Something about this whole thing is wrong. And Sam assumes that the root cause of all of this is Dean's experience in Hell.

"Dean, stop." Sam grabs Dean's hands in his own and feels him go rigid under his touch. This is bad. Very, very bad. After a moment Sam is compelled to tighten his grip as Dean actually starts to put up a fight. And over what? So he can get his fix? "Dean, c'mon man, STOP IT! Listen to me, you do not need it. You need help. Please, just stop and talk to me damn it!"

All movement stops and the only sound in Sam's ears is the rush of his own blood as it flows through him. Well, maybe that and a cricket or two somewhere off in the distance. Sam relaxes the grip he holds on his brother and Dean slowly turns to face him. As his older brother bores his eyes into him, Sam feels an extreme uneasiness creep up and cloud over him, and he swallows out of reflex. That look, the darkness he sees in the reflection of his brother's eyes, that one unflinching stare is enough for Sam to consider caving into Dean's need. But not quite.

Dean knows what he has to do. He has to play dirty because he can not survive another night of the horrors and pains that await him every time he closes his eyes. He needs to sleep and the only way to do that is with the magical amber liquid that is right within his reach. Dean spits the words out, they drip like venom from his tongue. The words are chosen with utmost care, designed to evoke one response. To cut Sam, right to the bone. To get him so mad, so pissed off that he will give in and let Dean have what he wants. As he begins, Dean sends a silent apology to his brother.

"Yeah, right Sam." An eerie chuckle bubbles up and escapes from his lips before he continues. "That's rich. You are one to talk baby brother. Why should I listen to you? Puh..lease. You sure the hell never listened to me! I asked you, I begged you Sam! To stop! Well, maybe you can't remember. I told you Sam. I told you it was bad, that it was poison, but you just didn't listen. You had to have it. Nothing else mattered to you. Not even me. So who are you Sam, what gives YOU the right to tell ME TO STOP!" Dean stops himself for a moment, clenches his jaw and his fists and pours it on. "You just had to get more, no matter what the cost. From that evil, skanky demon bitch!" Dean tells himself to quit, to stop his verbal assault on Sam but he can't, the floodgate is open and he just spills from his lips. "So don't you preach to me! Don't you dare! You are the walking dictionary definition of a hypocrite Sam." Dean's heart hammers away in his chest and he concentrates on slowing his breathing down. Shit, maybe he is out of control.

Sam stands there. Dean's tirade seems to have ended but he can't move. He can't speak. Sam just stands there, dazed and shocked by the outburst his brother just threw at him. It is confirmed. Sam can see right through his older sibling. He knows that Dean did not mean one word that just spewed out of his mouth. He is afraid. He is deflecting. And the older Winchester is most certainly not okay. He is not fine. Not by a long shot. When Dean speaks again, the tone that reaches his ears is one that Sam can best describe as a growl.

"So get your paws off of me Sam. I have things under control. I won't let it get too far. I am strong. I am nothing like you. I am not pathetic and weak so don't worry your pretty little head about it. I am fine, like always. Just let me go and leave me the hell alone."

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**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello! Here is another chapter for you to peruse. I would love to hear what you think about it if you are so inclined to do so, comments are so very wonderful and exciting to receive! I hope as always that you enjoy this journey into my brain! :)**

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By the time Dean finishes his mother of a rant his breath is ragged and the glare that he keeps trained on his brother starts to make his head ache. And pound. It starts to make his eyes hurt and he unconsciously squints to try and block out the onslaught. The drum in his head intensifies, beats louder and louder, and he is pretty sure that, if it wasn't for the grip of his brother around his wrists, he would just tumble over and land in an ungraceful heap on the side of the road.

But, he stands his ground. And waits. Waits for Sam to absorb all the hateful, vile words that flew out from him. Waits for Sam to tell him to go screw himself and storm off, back into the Impala, his anger punctuated by a violent slam of his baby's door. But, the more time that goes by, the more that his hope starts to fade. Please Sammy, just get in the car. I just need a drink. Just one little drink and I will be fine. He knows it is a lie but he doesn't know what else to do. To curb the nightmares, the pain, the ongoing anguish that he experiences each day, simply because he is allowed to live.

Dean searches his younger brother's face but he does not see any sign of the emotions his words, his incredibly mean spirited and cutting words, were designed to evoke. The ones the crave in his body aches to look upon. He sees no anger, or rage, or frustration, or hate written within the face before him. Dean thinks he can see pity, or compassion, or maybe both displayed there instead. And that sucks. Big time. This reaction, or rather this lack of reaction, is the exact opposite of what he had wanted. His big plan has blown up in his face and he knows that not only is he no closer to getting to his liquid gold, he has upped Sam's concern for his big brother quotient ten fold. Great. Oh well, he doesn't deserve it anyway. To numb the pain. The visions. The torture. Not after all that he has done. No. He deserves every single thing that he gets. And then some.

But as he thinks it over, Dean feels his breath hitch, a sense of panic looms again to the forefront of his mind. The older of the two brothers casts one last, lingering gaze towards the trunk. He then locks eyes with Sam, a silent plea etched in his weary eyes. Sam does not say a word, just gives his head an almost imperceptible shake, and with that Dean feels his walls crumble around him. Despair. Utter and total. He can't fight it any longer. He submits to the pain in his head, to the chisels that hammer behind his eyes, and stumbles back to lean on the car. His knees buckle and he goes down, his back slides against his beloved Impala until he finds himself on the ground. He chuckles a bit as he realizes that it actually was Sam who has made his journey to the asphalt not nearly as undignified as it could have been. Good old Sam, always there when a guy needs him. He hears Sam's voice, it floats around in the air, calm yet laced with concern.

"Sorry bro but the last thing I am going to do is let you go. Whether you like it or not, no matter how hard you try to push me away, whatever words you try to piss me off with to make me go, it won't work. I am not going to leave you."

"Dean?"

Dean is in a daze. A fog. His eyes remain at half mast as the pain ramps up and grates through his brain. Things become a little blurry, his focus seems a bit off and he can't quite make out who it is that says his name. He doesn't even know what the hell happened to get him here. He searches his brain but apparently it has chosen this exact moment to go on strike. He chuckles. Yeah, it's kinda like the ketchup scenario. You know, as hard as you try to get it out, to make it move, it refuses to escape the confines of its bottle. No matter how many times you hit it, it stays lodged within until it is good and ready to grace you with its presence. Huh, he must be really out of it. Seriously, did he just compare his brain to ketchup?

He just needs a minute to think, to figure out what the hell occurred, where he is. Dean wonders what he did this time. His hand reaches to his head and as he feels the gash and hisses at the pain that the touch elicits, he remembers. Right. Another fight. Another someone who just couldn't be happy to stay in their grave. Had to roam around in the world of the living. Huh, if that isn't a tad ironic. What makes him so different from them? He should be busy, rotting away in the ground himself. But, there is something else. What is it? He can feel it, wriggling around in his head somewhere. There is something more to his current predicament, some other reason for the disconnect he feels from his surroundings. It's right there, the thought, the reason, but he just can't get to it, it teases him, it is just out of his reach.

Dean decides maybe the best thing to do, maybe what he needs it to lay down for a minute, take a load off and shut his eyes, shut off his brain. After all, his brain is just a useless piece of shit right now anyways. Just rest. Only for a minute. As long as he doesn't go to sleep. For some reason, even in his swiss-cheese mind, he knows that sleep would be bad. But c'mon, he is so damn tired.

"Can't go to sleep... sleep is bad... just rest my eyes... just for a minute... can't sleep... don't sleep..." Sam listens as the whispered words leave Dean's mouth and can almost hear the sound of his own heart as it breaks a little. From the sight and the sounds that emanate from his brother. He sees Dean list to the side and quickly sits down beside him and places a tentative hand on his leg. Dean's head turns to meet his gaze and Sam finds he needs to fight to keep his own emotions in check. His brother looks so haggard, so exhausted, so drained, so confused and lost, as if he will break at the slightest breath of wind. Dean's eyes can't seem to focus as they seem to drift around, not really tuning in to once specific point. Sam's older brother is most definitely suffering from major sleep deprivation. Sam had noticed the signs creep up on Dean over the past week or so, the sudden moods swings, the appearance of the occasional stumble or lack of coordination here and there. But, of course, Dean was ready with a typical smart ass comment or a shrug to indicate it was nothing and he was fine. It is obvious to the younger of the two that this last tangle with their unearthly prey has put the symptoms into overdrive. Is this it? The result? Is this what Hell has done?

Sam feels the weight of his brother's form as it shifts, as it leans into him more and more and he finds he is the only thing that is between Dean and the ground below. It seems the fight for the elusive bottle has left Dean or, Sam figures, it is more a matter that his muddled up mind has forgotten about it. There is no time to waste. Sam knows as soon as Dean's brain unclouds even a fraction, his focus will lead back to what he so badly wanted from the trunk. He will be back to his usual snarky, there is nothing wrong with me, I am fine facade and Sam wants them, and that blasted bottled, to be long gone from here when that happens.

"Dean, c'mon bro, it's time to go. I'll help you up and then you can rest. Let's get you back into your baby." The older sibling's eyelids flutter and look towards Sam and he can tell Dean is not quite all the way with him yet.

Confusion filters through to his brain. He's on the ground, his head hurts and his brother is giving him those infamous puppy dog eyeballs. Dean knows that can never be a good sign and figures he has gone out and got himself injured again. His head sloshes around, like it is full of sludge, unable to make it tell him what he wants to know. And he is so tired. He wrinkles his forehead, tries to figure out what has made his mind all wooshy, all messed up and dopey. He remembers something about a hunt but if Sam is there then everything is good. Because, if Sam is safe, then all is well. Because, in the end, that is the most important thing. The only thing that matters.

Just as he is ready to ask his brother, to make sure that he is indeed okay, Dean feels strong hands pull him up and an arm encircle him around the waist. "S'my? where going? what here for? you? you okay S'm?" Boy, he didn't realize along with having ketchup for a brain that somewhere along the way he had stuffed his mouth full of marbles. Whatever is going on he sure the hell should be able to walk on his own steam. He is just tired, not an invalid for shit's sake! He pulls away from the hands that hold him but as a bout of vertigo assaults his senses he has to reach out to grip the car to avoid a faceplant. But, then again, he knows that his brother is still there, the hands that are now a little more forceful tell him that. Sammy would never let him just walk away, at least not without being right beside him all the way.

"Dean, it's okay man, I got you, don't be a stubborn ass. It's a short trip, let me get you there in one piece."

"K.. dontwannaseecrysam" Okay, definitely tired. Maybe beyond the normal amount. Can't focus. Can't talk. Dean feels himself be placed with a gentle hand into the passenger seat and shortly after a pair of white, circular pills are in his line of sight along with a bottle of water. He already feels drugged up enough, he doesn't want to start drooling too. Sam would never let him live that one down.

Sam can read the look on his brother's face. And he can sum it up in one word. Defiance. He can't even accept the smallest of relief, can not show the smallest sign of weakness, well, what he summarizes as weakness anyways. "Just take 'em Dean, they will help you relax and get some sleep." Sam lets out a weary sigh and that seems to be the catalyst to get his brother to obey. His older brother downs the pills and a sip of water and eases into the comfort of his seat.

The younger Winchester makes his way back to the open trunk and without a second thought tosses the booze into the ditch. He smiles when he hears the impact it makes in the brush. Sure, it may make his brother mad, might piss him off and Sam may be on the receiving end of those daggerish eyes once again but at least it is something. One little thing he can do to help. And, he has to admit it, that one little act makes him feel a hell of a lot better too.

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**TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello everyone! So sorry for the delay, life has been a bit stressful and not conducive to writing anything too thought provoking as of late. I hope that you will enjoy this chapter and I appreciate any who have a look at it. Thanks again. :)**

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Sam leans his hands against the trunk of the car and only now notices the slight tremor that betrays his outward calm. The adrenaline he had relied on to get through to Dean, to get him back in the car and away from the trunk has now left him and he feels a twinge of weakness ripple through his frame.

He slowly shakes his head. He knew all along that his brother was in trouble, that he has struggled ever since his return from Hell. But he had no idea just how far he was beginning to plummet. Sam still feels shock over what he had witnessed from his strong, tough, always in control older brother. All instincts of his to keep his cool, stick to his mantra of being fine, had instantly dissolved like sugar in water when faced with the overpowering need for escape, as it drowned out every other rational thought. That departure from his usual guise terrifies the younger man. Consumed. That's the word that comes to Sam's mind when he thinks of what happened. Dean. He was consumed with the need. To escape. To forget. Even if just for a little while. It makes the younger brother's stomach twist and turn, makes it flip and then flop. He shivers at the memory of Dean's blatant desire to get to the trunk, to find his salvation, the thing that would deliver him from his sorrow and pain. His salvation. Found at the bottom of a damn bottle.

What does he do? Does he take him to a motel? Do an impromptu intervention? Lock his brother up? Tie him to the bed? Dry him out? Would that even work? The more Sam thinks about it the more unsure he becomes. He definitely has to come up with a strategy first because there is no way that Dean will just volunteer to stop, especially when it seems to Sam that he doesn't even realize he has a problem. Well, first things first. Get the hell out of here and back on the road. To where, Sam isn't sure yet, hasn't quite figured that part out, but he himself suddenly feels the urge to move.

He makes his way back to the car and as Sam eases into the driver's seat he lets out yet another deep sigh. He seems to do that a lot as of late. He is so frustrated. Sure, when he pitched the booze into the ditch is felt really, really great but what did it solve? Absolutely nothing. Nothing. Not one damn thing. Dean is still in trouble and Sam still feels helpless as he is forced to watch him slowly fall apart before his eyes. Because he can not yet bring himself to talk about his experiences. And Sam knows that whatever happened down there continues to eat away at his brother. At his very soul.

But, even so, Sam has gained some insight, has gotten confirmation of one fact. Dean is not sleeping. As Sam recalls how he bore witness to one of his brother's nightmares first hand, as he heard the whispered words that tumbled out from Dean's mouth, he knows that real terror waits for him whenever he closes his eyes. It's not that he can't sleep. It is simply that he does not want to. Not if it means being dragged back into the pit. It is not worth the agony that will envelop him. Another shiver shudders its way through Sam's body. He knows Dean can not continue to go on like this. He will crumble. His body will give out. And Sam is terrified at what the result of that will be. He can't stand the thought of losing his brother, not again.

Sam grips the wheel and his hands twist and turn around it with such force and strength that his knuckles almost glow white. He feels sick at the thought. How the hell is he supposed to bring up the topic of Dean's need to drink? How is he supposed to casually mention that his overindulgence in alcohol has got to stop? If Sam can not even begin to understand what images, what memories torture his brother's mind, how can he justify it when he tells him that he can not continue on the path he is on? Sam rubs a hand over his face. Who is he? Who is he to judge his brother, to tell him he has a problem, when this coping mechanism may be the only thing at the moment that serves to keep Dean remotely sane? This is going to be a rough ride. And it fills Sam's heart with dread.

As his hand moves to shut the car door, Sam tosses a glance over at his brother in the passenger seat. Dean's eyes are still open and although they follow the noise of the door as it closes, Sam is pretty sure he can not comprehend what is going on. He surmises it will only be a matter of minutes, or maybe even seconds until his big brother passes out from exhaustion. And, as that thought filters through his mind, as his eyes remain on Dean, the proverbial light bulb flickers to life in his brain.

There it is. As clear as day. The reason. The reason he has to broach the subject. It literally stares him in the face. The look. The look that is present on his older brother's features reaffirms it. Dean needs to stop. He can not go on like this. He can not hide from it. Won't find the solace he seeks in the bottom of the bottle. No matter how much poison his brother swallows it will not stop his torment. Not for long. It is only a temporary fix and as the haze lifts the pain will still be there. And the longer the pain is left to fester, to weigh more and more on his battered mind, the more and more he pushes it down into his gut, the bigger the bang will be when it finally explodes. Sam has to get Dean to open up to him, share his demons, his time in the pit. And he needs to do it soon. Before it destroys him from the inside out. Before he is lost for good.

Sam continues to look upon Dean's weary and haggard face and is sure that his brother's mind is too mixed up to realize where he is or what events took place just minutes ago. The combination of the knock to his head, the pain pills, the lack and sleep and the utter stress Dean's mind and body has undergone leads Sam to one simple conclusion. His older brother is currently floating around in zombie mode. Well, minus the being dead and wanting to kill people part. He chuckles at that and sees his reaction illicit a raised eyebrow from Dean.

"Y'k S'm? Need me drive?"

Sam flinches and balls up his hands into fists. Unbelievable. He teeters on the edge of mass irritation. It's all he can do to stop from performing a classic Homer Simpson move and throttle the other man into submission. Strangle him until he realizes that he is the one who needs help. Not Sam. The younger brother has to fight the urge to let loose with the tongue lashing of a lifetime, the one that he so badly wants to give his brother right now. Leave it to Dean. Even when he is drugged to the gills and barely able to function, he still has the incessant need to be his younger brother's protector. Sam makes another mental note. This is one more thing that needs to stop. Enough already.

"Uh, don't think so man. Can you even see straight right now?"

Dean blinks. And blinks again. And then one more time. Sam figures his is conducting a test. To see if he can get his eyeballs back into focus. Nope, the glazed look that remains on his brother's face tells the younger of the two that his efforts have failed. Miserably.

"M head...feels fnny...fuzzy.." Blink. Blink. "eyes...don wanna wrk... can't focus on your ugly mug.."

"Nice. Jerk. Just sit this one out bro and try not to think too hard, you don't want to hurt that delicate brain of yours." Sam expects a smartass, sarcastic reply, a bitch to his jerk, and is disappointed when it is met only by silence. "For once man, please, just relax." Sam still waits for a response, his eyes fixed on Dean's clouded over ones. He watches Dean blink a few more times and then widen his eyes slightly as if he has just noticed Sam for the first time.

"wha? stopstarins'my, 'mfine. why don' youdrive while I get sleep. goodhuh?"

Sam can't help but giggle at Dean's zoned out state. Man, he is so totally out of it. "Yeah, wow, that's a great idea Dean, I wish I would of thought of that. I'll drive this time. You just close your eyes and take it easy."

"k...thanks s'm, can't seem to keep eyesopen...so damn tired..."

"I know man, I know. Go to sleep."

"k..udrive..paradises'm...need to getto paradise...please...need...see what itslike...paradise...nice ibet..."

Before Sam can reply he sees his older brother lean towards the window with a sigh and his head comes to rest of the glass. Sam smiles sadly as Dean finally lets go, as he finally closes his eyes.

The younger Winchester starts up the car and once again the two brothers head out onto the open road. As an hour passes and yet another motel sign beckons to him from the side of the desolate highway, Sam weighs the options in his head. Stop at the next town, the next motel, or travel on through, right to Paradise. He doesn't think Dean is in any kind of condition to take on a possible hunt, but he also knows his brother's infamous stubborn streak all too well. Does he really want to face a pissed off, over tired, drugged up Dean before he has had time to form some kind of game plan? And if he does stop he knows Dean will just press and press and threaten to go out on his own, which will lead to a loud argument, which will conclude with both of them dragging themselves to that damn town anyway.

Another look towards Dean and just like that the decision is made. Sam watches him. He feels a twinge of disbelief. He is asleep. Dean. Sound asleep. The only noise that seems to escape him is a soft snore. No twitches, no moans, no rustles or sweat. That can only mean one thing. No dreams. Well, there is no way that Sam will be the one to interrupt what seems to be a moment of true and complete rest which his brother so desperately needs. Not to just wake Dean up, get him into a motel room and tell him to go back to sleep. Kinda defeats the whole purpose.

So, Sam passes the next town, the next motel sign and heads on down the road.

As the sky begins to lighten and the air throughout the Impala begins to warm, Sam's eyes gaze upon yet another sign on the side of the road. This time when he sighs, it is out of relief. Finally. The brothers have arrived. He looks towards his brother's still motionless form and whispers softly to him.

"Welcome to Paradise bro."

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**TBC... Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello everyone! Sorry it seems to take so long to get an update done on this story. Thank you for coming back for this next chapter and as always I hope you will find some enjoyment in it. I love seeing what others think so please, feel free to send a review my way. Thanks again and happy reading! :)**

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Sam drives by the colourful 'Welcome to Paradise' sign and notes that the town has a population of about thirty five hundred. So, armed with that fact, Sam feels genuine surprise as he pulls into the motel situated on the outskirts of the town and discovers the lot contains over a dozen cars. It's just weird. Sam finds an empty space and silently hopes that there is still room at the Inn for the Winchester brothers. After the night they just had he absolutely dreads the thought of trying to find somewhere else to stay. As he scopes out the area and leans back in his seat he can sense it. There is definitely something off with this place and he fears that the two brothers have once again stumbled onto something worthy of a hunt. He can't suppress the slight shiver that runs through him, as if a stream of coldness has decided to lodge itself in his spine and climb all the way up. Damn it.

As he turns off the car and wipes his eyes to try and ease the burn present from the strain of driving all night, he detects a slight movement from his right side. Sam turns towards it to see Dean slowly but surely blink his way back into the waking world. Sam can see the grimace flash across his brother's face as he tries to stretch out the kinks and knots and strained muscles he must feel after being out to the world and huddled in the seat beside him for the past few hours. Sam himself can not wait to lay his body down on an actual bed and stretch away all the soreness from muscles he didn't even know existed. He figures it's just another consequence to the sort of lives the brothers lead. Another effect of sardines-stuck-in-a-can syndrome.

Sam reaches out a hand to Dean's shoulder. "Hey man, we're here. Welcome to Paradise dude."

"S'my? Hey. Huh, I thought Paradise would have palm trees and sandy beaches and scantily clad women. Figures."

"Yeah, well, that would definitely be your idea of Paradise dude."

Sam takes a good look at his brother and is pleased to see that at least his older sibling seems to have gained back some of the colour to his face. He no longer wears the death warmed over blanket from the night before. His eyes still hold that eerily haunted look that has become a permanent fixture since his return, but at least they seem to be alert and awake. Not like the night before. He quickly scans Dean while the older of the two runs a hand through his hair and that is when Sam notices it. Notices the trembles. The shakes. The twitches that seem to have taken hold of Dean's hands. And Sam now also notices Dean's leg. It bounces like he is nervous or...crap...like he needs a fix.

"How you doing Dean? You must have been pretty exhausted, you slept almost the whole way here."

"I'm fine, couldn't be better." Dean turns to his brother and Sam can see the fight that rages inside. The clenched jaw is always a tell tale sign. His brother is barely holding it together.

"How's your head bro? Headache gone?"

"Yeah, gone. I'm rested up and fresh as a daisy." The bounce in his leg doesn't quit but Sam can tell his brother is actively trying to keep his hands occupied. They run through his hair, across his face, move to adjust the clothing he wears. And it all points to the fact that his older brother is aware of what is happening and as always is trying to hide it from the younger man. "You on the other hand dude look like you are ready to keel over. How long were we on the road? You should of woke me up to drive."

"No worries man, I'm good. Plus, you looked so cute and cuddly over there. Did you know you drool in your sleep?"

Dean snorts in response. "Hardy har har. You are hilarious bro." Dean takes a look out the window of the car and Sam can see the same question mark flash across his face as Sam had felt moments ago. "What the hell Sam? Is there some kinda Shriner's convention in town or something? I know, maybe it's a clown convention Sammy, that'd be great huh?"

"Whatever man, enough with the clown jokes already okay?"

"Sorry, I know how much those painted faces scare you Sam, I'm sure they scare lots of other kids too. So, probably not clowns then. Whatever it is, Mr. Motel dude must be loving this! Most business he's gotten for years I bet."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. I'm not sure what's going on but the sign coming in said the population is not even four thousand. I can't imagine this place gets too many tourists. Oh well, first thing's first. Just stay here and take another minute to wake up, I better see if we can get a room."

"Okay man, I'll get our gear out of the trunk."

Sam freezes. The trunk. God. He sure as hell hopes that his brother is not thinking about the stash that was in there. Sam swallows out of nervousness and silently pleads to anyone who will listen to have Dean of totally forgotten about the incident the night before. He is too tired and sore and weary to have a big blowout fight with his older brother in the middle of this damn parking lot. He just needs to play it cool. For now.

"Sounds good. Be right back bro."

"Yeah, sure Sammy. No rush, take your time."

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Dean watches his brother head towards the motel office and as soon as he ducks into the building, the older brother grabs the keys from the ignition, leaps out of the passenger side door and rushes his way to the back of the Impala as quickly as his unsteady legs will carry him. The trembles have now totally overtaken him and it takes at least three tries to get the damn trunk open. He can't remember another time when he felt such a surge of happiness like the one he experiences when the latch is finally released and the guts of the trunk are exposed and displayed in front of his hungry eyes. He rummages through the contents in a frenzy, hampered only by the shaking digits of his hands.

It is right then, as he scours and dives and moves around every single item confined in the space, that he is hit by the mother of all dejavu moments. Wait. The trunk. The bottle. The side of the highway. The panic he felt when his brother took it away from him. It's the same. The same panic he feels well up inside him again. Right now. Shit. Wait. Relax. Okay. Don't forget the back-up dude. Dean reaches for his duffel bag and chuckles out loud when he finds the prize. He loves the feel of the cool glass against his skin. He wonders briefly if that is normal. If he knows what the hell he is doing. If he is still in control. As he twists the bottle open and breathes in the odour of the contents within, the thought that he may not be in total control of the situation disappears immediately. He takes a long, thirst quenching swig and any doubt that he is doing the right thing is permanently removed from his mind. This right here. He needs this. He wants this.

Dean has to suppress a moan of pure delight as he relishes the burn that slides down his throat. It leaves behind a trail of warmth that seems to flood his entire body from head to toe. He closes his eyes at the enjoyment of the sensation. It just makes everything seem so much better and will help keep the monsters at bay, cover them up in a fog which they will find hard to escape from. And after everything, Dean feels justified in his actions. Doesn't he deserve to feel better, to feel good if only for a short time? He feels a wave of calmness lap over his mind and body as he takes another long swig.

As the third swig travels from the bottle and into him, the shakiness he felt slowly dissipates and is replaced by a slight sense of euphoria. He reluctantly places the bottle back into its hiding spot, drops the bags on the ground and closes the trunk. Dean leans against the side of the car and his face breaks out into a huge grin as his brother emerges from the office, motel key in hand.

"Yo! Sammy! Welcome to Paradise dude!"

Sam stops for the briefest of moments and examines his brother with his well trained Dean mood-detector eyeballs. Hmm. Gone are the shakes. Present is the high voltage grin and bubbly demeanor. Shit. It means one thing. Dean. He got his fix. And Sam? Well, Sam just got pissed off.

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**TBC.. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hello to all of you out there in fan fiction land! Thank you for checking out this latest chapter. As always I hope that it will entertain you to some degree. If you are so inclined, please drop me a line to let me know what you think. Thanks again and happy reading! :)**

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Yup. No doubt about it. Sam Winchester is definitely, absolutely, 100% pissed off. Fuming. Blood-boiling mad. He knew the possibility was there but still, he can not believe it. He was gone for what, like a total of five minutes? And he gets to come back to some hopped up version of his brother? He sees that Dean's duffel bag is open and concludes that he grabbed his hit from within its confines. This stinks. Like a steaming pile of horseshit.

He is so angry. At everything. At Dean. At himself. At Heaven. At Hell. At the world. At the damn creators of alcohol. He is so worked up that his body manifests his emotions into distinct physical sensations. His skin, it starts to bristle with the rise of an anger induced heat. His breath, it comes out short and ragged, not unlike a bull that readies itself to charge. And, to top it all off, Sam is pretty sure that he just felt his left eye actually twitch. Not the signs of a calm and soothed individual. Not at all.

His older brother has been like night and day, like fire and ice, like Jekyl and Hyde. A quivering mass of emotions and fatigue and hopelessness one minute; a goofy, give em hell, nothing in the world can get in my way attitude the next. The whole thing, this entire situation makes Sam feel queasy, like he is at the mercy of some kinda freaky yo-yo ride that Dean is at the controls of. And, as much as he tries, Sam can not seem to stop it. He can't seem to get off. And it makes his head spin.

Sam's first instinct is to move from his frozen stance, run over to Dean at mach speed and unload a major piece of his mind onto him. Sam tells his body to move but as his legs start up again, as he begins to make his way over to the car and his brother, he feels like he is trapped in the body of an old and decrepit man. His legs hardly move. His gait is one comparable to that of a turtle, and he feels weakened by the constant bombardment of bull that endlessly whirls around him, like he is trapped in an actual shit storm. He feels like all his energy reserves have been sucked out from his muscles and joints and rerouted into his running at a mile a minute mind. So instead of what he had planned, his approach turns out to be subdued and more than a tad anti-climatic.

The closer and closer he gets, the more and more Sam realizes he can't do it. He doesn't have the will or the strength or the heart to tear a strip off of his brother. At least not now. He doesn't want to become embroiled in a heated debate, a confrontation that will only culminate in Dean putting his back and impenetrable walls back up to their maximum. And then, at that point, the inevitable will happen. Just like every other single time Sam has tried to get his brother to open up, to talk about stuff. The younger brother will be forced to take the brunt of Dean's own brand of rage and will watch in frustration when Dean stops talking and walks away from him. Walks away from his troubles. Walks away from help. Sam sighs out of frustration or fatigue or any one of the million other emotions that roll around in his head. But one thought centers itself out, like the flash of a neon light, and it blinks it's message over and over again in Sam's mind. Dean. Needs. Help.

It's weird. The younger brother keeps a watchful eye on Dean as he continues his agonizingly slow march to the car and takes in the fact that his older brother's expression has not changed. It's like he has tuned everything out. Like he hasn't even noticed one tiny little bit of the distress that oozes off of Sam. He hasn't noticed the flashes of emotions and that fact puts up another red flag for the younger Winchester. Dean, he is always turned on to the Sammy channel. Always aware, almost to an uncanny degree, to his baby brother's mood. Always quick to pounce on it, to go into full on protector mode. The fact that the grin has remained firmly in place despite all the emotions lit up on Sam's face, despite his body language flashing like bulbs on a Christmas tree, increases Sam's concern by several degrees.

Sam comes to a stop. He stands pretty much face to face and toe to toe with his big brother and fights the urge to wave his hand in front of Dean's face, just to get some sort of damn reaction from him. Sam feels the burn on his skin and the quickness of his breath decrease in rapid succession. There is still anger swirling inside of him but it begins to fade to the background as another emotion jumps to the surface. Sadness. His heart. It seems to break a little. The knowledge that the big, goofy, can light up a room smile that his brother sports on his face at this moment is only the by product of all the damn poison he just chugged down his throat fills Sam with a twinge of deep loss.

His brother has changed. Dean's grin, it used to be such a natural feature of his brother. Hidden but always at the ready, waiting in the wings to be unleashed, to spring into action from its place just beneath the surface to lighten the mood or to get under Sam's skin until they both burst out in laughter. But the feeling that the grin currently evokes from Sam is the total opposite, and the situation is more than a little ironic. Because there stands Dean, grinning like a bloody idiot, and all Sam wants to do is cry.

"Hey! Earth to Sam!" The younger Winchester almost laughs out loud when confronted by another unbelievable bolt of irony. Dean, he turns out to be the one. He actually waves his hand in front of Sam's face to get his attention. "Hey, Sammy, you in there?" All Sam can muster up is a slight nod of his head. "Good. So, I guess you managed to get us a room huh? That is awesome! I don't know about you Sammy but I have got a great feeling about this place, I think we are going to have a fantastic time here! So, let's grab our gear, drop it off in the room and check out what all the hubbub in this town is about. I hope there is something evil here. I need a good hunt. It'll be fun. So, what do ya say? Ready for some fun in Paradise my main man? Bring it on right?"

Sam sighs. Okay, this display has just gone from perplexing to down right disturbing. Dean, the kind of man who seems to have the art of the brood down to a science. Dean, the strong and mostly silent type. Dean, the kind of guy who likes to communicate in as few words as possible, has just babbled. A lot. So Sam just stares into his brother's eyes and wonders if Dean can catch the look of shock that his brother is in. But, because Dean just stares right back at him, because his intense eyes do not falter, because they do not blink, because they just seem to wait for Sam's response, the younger man figures his chin has remained at its rightful position on his face even though it felt to Sam like it landed on the ground with a thud.

Dean is oblivious, in his own world. It's like all of a sudden Dean has no clue what the hell is going on, or what the hell he did. Certainly he must realize what actions he took while Sam was in the office right? He couldn't have forgotten that he intentionally drank out of sight of his brother right? The urge is so strong. Sam wants to wind up and slap that stupid smile off of his brother's face, wants to snap him out of whatever zone he is currently residing in and bring him back.

"Dean, are you okay man? I mean, you have just done a complete 360 in the span of about five minutes. Do I need to worry?" It's a rhetorical question of course because all Sam seems to do as of late is worry about his brother's mental state. But he wants to see what his brother has to say about it, needs to gauge just what in the hell is going on in that thick skull of his. The look that Dean gives him makes his skin crawl a bit. The confusion Sam sees displayed there gives him reason to pause and he honestly can't tell whether his brother even knows what Sam is talking about.

"Uh, you don't have to worry about me Sammy, I'm fine. I'm always fine, you know that." Without giving Sam a chance to respond, Dean swipes the key out of his brother's hand, grabs their bags and heads off to find their accommodations. Sam stays where he is for a second more and Dean tosses one of those over the shoulders looks in his direction. "C'mon Sam, get the lead out dude!" Sam cringes when he sees the eerie smile return in earnest and glint at him once more.

* * *

The brothers arrive at their room and Sam eases his body down onto the bed. He just wants to sit there and not move, not think, just be. He is worn out. Dean, on the other hand, starts to pace the length of the room almost immediately after setting the bags down. It's like he has a swarm of insects crawling all over him and can't seem to shake them off.

"Dean, take a load off dude. Try and sit still for a minute, you're making me dizzy." His older sibling looks at him and Sam can tell the last thing that Dean has going through his mind is the desire to sit still.

"I'm good Sam, just got a lot of energy I need to work off you know? Wanna get out there, see what we can see, find out if there is any evil crap going on around here. I'm pumped up to find out so let's go check it out."

Sam is tired. Exhausted. He just wants to lay down and sleep. Wants to forget for a few hours the reality that has become the Winchester's life. But, as his eyes continue to watch his brother go back and forth across the hideous green and brown carpet, he isn't so sure he can leave him to his own devices for very long. At least not until he has a chance to talk with him. So, although his body screams at him in protest, he rises from the bed and sees that action gets his brother's attention fast. Dean still paces across the room but his movements have slowed as he waits to hear the words come from Sam's mouth.

"Yeah, okay dude, but you gotta give me like ten minutes. I really need to take a shower and freshen up or I will be conked out in minutes and won't be able to go anywhere. Okay?"

Dean stops and, if possible, the wattage on that grin of his has increased ten fold. "Great. Yeah, sorry Sammy, I guess you have been up a lot longer than me. Sure, sounds good, you just freshen up and I'll hang out. If you are really beat I can just go exploring on my own while you have a nap."

Nope. Not gonna happen. "I want to check it out too Dean. I found out a few interesting tidbits from Mr. Motel dude as you so fondly referred to the owner of this establishment earlier. So, just sit tight, give me a chance to have a shower and I will tell you about it on the way into town." Amazing. Sam almost forgot about the intel he picked up while he checked them into the Paradise Motel. All the cars? All the guests that have invaded the small town? They are all here in hopes of ridding themselves of their troubles. It seems the article that Sam had seen, that had sent the brothers to this particular place, has started a frenzy and people are coming from across the country just to check out the local pub.

"Well now I am intrigued little brother. Okay, hurry up so we can get going. Bitch."

"Yeah, yeah, just cool your jets, jerk, I won't be long. Just don't go without me okay?"

"Okay. Deal."

* * *

The hot water feels like heaven on his tired bones. He relishes the sensation of it and can sense some of his tension ease out from his pores and disappear down the drain. He really needed this and he feels renewed, energized, and ready to face his brother and the talk yet to come. He leaves the bliss of the shower and five minutes later opens up the door to greet his brother and go take a look at the so called Paradise Pub. Huh, this town doesn't really have much of an imagination when it comes to names for its various establishments. He laughs a bit at that and is just about to fill in his brother on the joke when a quick scan of the room finds that he is currently the only occupant. Damn it Dean.

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**TBC.. Thank you as always for having a look :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**HI! I know what you are thinking - what the heck is this story about again? Yeah, me too... ;) I suddenly had an inspiration to carry on with this little number this morning and the words just started coming out. I hope that I can update much, much, much quicker than this last time. Reviews would certainly be a motivator but not absolutely essential. Thanks for any who decide to check this out. I hope you enjoy! :)**

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_Previously..._

_The hot water feels like heaven on his tired bones. He relishes the sensation of it and can sense some of his tension ease out from his pores and disappear down the drain. He really needed this and he feels renewed, energized, and ready to face his brother and the talk yet to come. He leaves the bliss of the shower and five minutes later opens up the door to greet his brother and go take a look at the so called Paradise Pub. Huh, this town doesn't really have much of an imagination when it comes to names for its various establishments. He laughs a bit at that and is just about to fill in his brother on the joke when a quick scan of the room finds that he is currently the only occupant. Damn it Dean._

* * *

The instant Sam closed the door Dean felt the buzz of alcohol leave him. The rush of his adrenaline surge plummeted and he was once again alone. By himself. With nothing but his brain to keep him company. No. That's not it. His brain doesn't keep him company. It tortures him. Endlessly. With the sights. And the sounds. And, well, the list goes on. Bombarded by Hell.

He really, really, really wanted another drink. Bad. Before the pain began again. Before it started up to infiltrate every moment. Every breath. It helps. The alcohol. How could something be considered a problem if it helps you deal? If it keeps away the things that no one else could possibly understand? That no one else will ever bare witness to? No, he doesn't have a problem. He doesn't need to drink, he just wants to. He likes how it keeps him here, on earth, instead of sending him back down into the pit.

Sam is wrong. He can take his psychology 101 and shove it directly up his ass. He is still in control. He can stop anytime he wants to.

The words bounced around in his head. He's in control. He can stop. He doesn't have a problem. He's in control. Even as those words floated around he found his eyes drift to his duffel bag on the floor. He took one step towards it but stopped as he heard the shower start up and thought of Sam. They are on a hunt. Sammy didn't get much rest because of him. He has to stay sharp and focused. He has to protect Sam, no matter what. Demons and visions and pain and torture are nothing compared to the thought of harm coming to his brother. He has to leave the booze where it is. Hidden and out of reach. Because he knows he doesn't really need it. He is strong enough to get through without it. And he will prove it once and for all.

As his eyes once again found their way to that damn bag Dean felt an overpowering urge to just tear into it and damn everything else. He felt his breath ramp up and his body start to take control over his head. His body wanted it. Needed it.

No. He had to focus on Sam. On his job. On the promise he made. He didn't dive head first into the pit just to come back and fail his brother because he wasn't as sharp as he should be. Or because his reflexes were diminished because he was too weak to walk away from the temptation. From the relief. He doesn't matter. Only Sammy does. And he has to remember that. Always.

He closed his eyes and swallowed when he envisioned Sam, dead in his arms. The blood that coated him as the life poured out of his younger brother. That is all it took for Dean to turn quickly on his heel and head out the door, into the fresh air to clear his head. To clear his body's need for that damn bottle. But he knows he doesn't have a problem. He knows it. Not Dean Winchester. Not this. He reached the Impala and leaned against her side. He felt the warm of the sun on her ebony skin and melted into it as it seeped through his pores. He stayed there, man against machine until the thoughts start to float back in. He needed to get his mind right. Why couldn't he just let it go already? Move on? Forget about it? Huh, as if that will ever be possible. The damage is done and now he has to live the rest of his miserable existence with the memories the pit holds.

He felt it start. The clamminess of his skin. The sweat as it dampened his brow. His hair. His shirt. He tried to blame it on the heat of the day or the events of the night before but he heard the voice nagging at him. His own voice. It wouldn't shut up. Maybe you do have a problem. Maybe you should just go back inside and take a little swig. Just one. That's all you need to get by.

His breaths came out short and rapid then. If he didn't know any better he would of thought he was having a damn panic attack. Out there in the damn parking lot. Of the Paradise Motel. Peachy.

He looked around for something. Anything to get him out of the damn funk he found himself in and back into reality. A grin graced his face when he spotted it. The sign not so far off in the distance. God, this place is the most unoriginal town ever. The Paradise Diner? Cripes, at least they hadn't spent the entire budget to come up with snappy titles. But, that's neither here nor there. The diner meant coffee which meant caffeine intake which meant no need for booze. Newly determined to get over whatever the hell his latest episode was, Dean stalked off in the direction of the diner and the promises of the coffee contained within. Another thought. Maybe they got pie in that joint. With the smile firmly affixed at the thought of that, Dean pushed off from his car and headed down the road.

* * *

Sam just stands there in the empty room. He soaks in the fact that his stupid, stubborn, can't wait ten fricken minutes out of his mind brother has flown the coop. Without telling him. Without any thought to the 'deal' he just made with Sam that he was gonna stay put. That he would wait for him. That they would go to that pub together. A heavy sigh leaves him as Sam's renewed and energized feeling quickly departs and leaves him feeling frustrated, exhausted and deeply concerned. Only big brother Dean can get him to go from serenity to a feeling of doom in a nanosecond.

So he stands there. His hands clench into fists at his sides and his eyes dart around the room. He laughs at himself when he looks again, as if by some miracle Dean will suddenly emerge from underneath the bed or something. He is really starting to get tired of this shit.

Where the hell did his dumb ass brother get to? A twinge of panic envelops him as his tired and worried brain assaults him with all kinds of worst case scenario images. The one that chills him the most is a picture of Dean. Sitting alone at that damn bar. And he is drinking himself into oblivion. And if there is indeed something of a supernatural nature going on, well, his defenses would be down and he would be open to attack.

That vision finally breaks the hold, the concrete his body seemed to be encased in and Sam finds himself suddenly able to move again. He rushes over to the window and cocks his head to the side. Hmm, he wasn't really expecting that. The Impala. It is still there. So, Dean didn't take the car which means he is walking. And, because Sam knows his brother tends to have an aversion to travelling any length of distance on foot he must be okay. But, the other voice in Sam's head speaks up and tells him the opposite. Dean would never chance hurting that damn car. His metallic baby. So, maybe he did head out to get plastered which would mean he definitely is in trouble. Crap.

* * *

Dean feels better. The fresh air. The sights and sounds of normalcy all around him. No monsters. No demons. Nothing evil. Just life. He hears a dog bark. And the laughter of children. He sees families and couples and older folks. Truckers. Vacationers. Beauty all around him. The sun seems to warm him even further and he bathes in the sanity of the moment. The clarity. The reason he and Sam do what they do. So people like these can enjoy moments like this. Without a care. Without a tear. Just to be alive and living life to its fullest. Maybe it is all worth it after all.

He walks into the diner with a smile on his face. He orders a couple cups of joe and a few artery clogging pieces of blueberry pie, pays the cashier and heads back out with more zeal that he has felt in a long time. He has a bounce in his step and a confidence in his stride knowing that yes indeed, he is perfectly fine.

* * *

Sam's eyes hit the nightstand and sure enough, the Impala keys are still there along with Dean's phone. But his wallet is gone. Double crap. So, Sam can not even get a hold of him. He has made it impossible to track him down. Worry and anger and fear all cascade up and down Sam's already strained last nerve. He just knows it. Dean is headed towards that bar. Alone.

Sam gathers up the keys in his hand and heads towards the door but stops when he sees it. The duffel bag. It's just sitting there on the floor, right where his brother tossed it. It sits there. It taunts him. It dares him to take a peek inside. It screams at him to take advantage of the opportunity to see if Dean is hiding anything else. If that bottle he knows was there is now gone, held in the hand of his brother, wherever the hell he might be.

Sam hesitates briefly before slowly stalking his way towards the still open bag. Sam's exhaustion may be getting the better of him. He is moving so slowly as if the bag will suddenly disappear if he approaches too quickly. He's gonna be crazy before this is over.

Sam can hear his inner voice call out to him. His conscience is making itself known loud and clear. It warns him. Tells him to reconsider. Reminds him that this is a major breach of privacy. That the one thing Dean values most is his personal space.

And here Sam stands, ready to chuck Dean's right to privacy right out the fricken window.

Sam keeps his eyes on that damn bag. At first he tries to use some sort of x-ray vision to see inside it. Maybe he can get the answers without even having to touch the stupid thing. But, he ain't no Superman and all he manages to get for his trouble is the beginnings of a headache.

Privacy be damned. Dean has lost that privilege for now. He is on the edge and unpredictable and in pain. He needs to check, to try and find out the truth of his brother's complete 180 from earlier. One more quick look towards the door, which reveals no sign of his brother and Sam goes for it. Now or never. He takes a deep breath and then everything becomes a blur. He rummages through the bag with skill and purpose and before he knows it Sam has most of his brother's personal belongings strewn about on the bed. He blinks at the mess and can feel a bead of sweat run down his face. He is nervous as hell. It just feels so wrong rifling through Dean's stuff.

He reminds himself. He is doing this for Dean. Not to hurt him. Not to lecture him. Not to send out an I told you so in his direction. He wants to help him. More than anything. And he doesn't know how much longer he can wait for Dean to make the first move. Sam thinks back to the tremors he witnessed, the shaky legs, the inability to keep still, the constant fidgeting. He knows what he saw and what it means. His brother has become totally dependent on this shit.

* * *

Dean strolls peacefully back towards the motel. This little walk to the local diner was the best idea he's ever had. Fresh air and reminders all around him of what life is really about. He thinks of Sam as he continues to walk. He hopes that he will be so happy about the caffeine and sugar boost that he will just let the fact that he left without a word slide by. Dean knows his brother is beat from having to look after his sorry ass the night before so what better way to say thanks and sorry than coffee and food.

Dean feels a slight twinge of nostalgia when he thinks how lucky his is that Sam is still there. He is alive. And well. And the two of them are back out on the open road taking care of all the evil sons a bitches out there. And he is still a pain in his big brother's ass. And he wouldn't have it any other way. It is all worth it. To have his brother back along side him. And Dean knows he would do it again. Without question.

* * *

Sam keeps telling himself that he is doing this for Dean as he searches deeper and deeper into his brother's duffel. His nervousness and guilt is forgotten when he strikes pay dirt. He knew it. His brother. His there is nothing wrong with me, I am always fine, pain in the ass brother has a stash of booze hidden in his bag. Sam may not of thought so much about it except for the way it's been placed. It isn't just laying out there in broad daylight for anyone to see. It is hidden. Well. Dean has actually wrapped it up in some of his clothes which means he is making a concentrated effort to keep it out of sight. Which means he is hiding it. On purpose. Which means he doesn't want Sam to know about it. Which means that Dean, unequivocally and without a doubt, has a problem.

As if that isn't bad enough, Sam finds one other clue to how bad Dean has gotten. What lengths he will go to lessen his pain. A prescription bottle. The same one they keep in their first aid kit. Hidden amongst the dirty socks and underwear. He hardly has time to sigh and run a hand over his weary face when his worst fear is realized. The door. The knob. It's turning. And there is nothing he can do. He is so busted. Big time.

* * *

Dean is smiling like a damn fool as he reaches the door to their room. He feels refreshed and invigorated and can't wait to see Sam. The brother he thought he lost. The brother he has found again. For a moment he feels true peace.

He opens the door and instead of the greeting he had planned to belt out, he can feel his smile hit the floor and his feel good mood go to shit. Instantly. Of course, walking in to witness the tell tale signs that your brother has just gone through all your personal shit tends to have that affect on a guy. And the fact that said brother is holding your bottle tightly in one hand and your pill stash in the other? Priceless. And by the way your brother has that unmistakable deer in the headlights look accompanied by guilt etched across his face? Well that tells Dean that Sam knows he has crossed a line. That invading his personal space is something you never want to do to Dean Winchester. But that he did it anyway.

So Sam, say goodbye to happy Dean and hello to I'm gonna kick your ass into next week Dean.

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**TBC... Thanks for reading. Please, I would love to know what you think. I hope to update soon! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

_**Hello there and welcome back! I want to thank everyone who has given this story a chance and THANK YOU to those of you who have taken the time to send a review my way, I really appreciate it! Reviews are wonderful to receive so feel free to keep 'em coming! Thanks again and I hope you will enjoy! :)**_

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Sam swallows and feels a rush of dizziness flow through him. He knows it isn't actually happening but the room suddenly seems a whole lot smaller. Like it is closing in on him at a rapid pace, not leaving him a lot of wiggle room. He swallows again as he suffers the onslaught of the silent, brooding, too pissed off to actually articulate one single word stance of his brother. Sam watches his older sibling's body language and it doesn't bode well. At all. Cripes. Dean's chest is heaving. Heaving! God. He is really, really, really, majorly pissed off. And not at some monster or demon or even a psychotic human, no, but at him. At his own brother. Sam just wants to melt away into a puddle on the floor, just to get out of the glare that is directed at him. He thinks it may just happen too, as he can practically feel the heat of rage from his brother's unflinching gaze make its way over through the air to descend upon him where he stands.

Sam waits. For that anger to be unleashed on him. For Dean to go into full-on Rambo mode. For him to scream and yell and spew hateful words in his direction. He watches Dean's eyes glance down quickly before they refocus on the younger brother's face.

Sam tracks his own eyes to what Dean took a moment to glance at and he sighs slightly. Shit. Sam wants to yell out in frustration as he notices; as he realizes where his brother went. He didn't take off to get his fix at some damn bar in this stupid town. No. Dean is holding a tray with two coffees in one hand and a nondescript brown paper bag in the other. Knowing his brother, Sam has no doubt that there are a couple of tasty pastries lurking within.

The younger Winchester has to suppress another sudden urge. To chuckle. Not in hilarity or joy but out of damn irony. Figures. Dean left and picked up some damn breakfast, well, maybe lunch by the looks of the clock, for them to share before heading out. For his baby brother who he knew didn't get much rest. The same brother who just betrayed Dean's ever present personal space rule. Crap. Sam should have known that the one thing he was trying to prevent would just end up coming back and biting him in the ass. Dean is about to clam up. And Sam has brought it on himself.

Sam knows there isn't a damn thing he can do or say to help him escape his brother's wrath. But it hasn't come yet. The silence in the room is deafening. Sam just stands there, unsure of what to make of it. He's been caught. Red handed. His hand in the proverbial cookie jar. It's not the sight of Dean's rigid body language that has him on pins and needles. It's the fact that his big brother hasn't moved. Hasn't spoken. Hasn't done one damn thing. Hasn't moved one damn inch. If he hadn't seen his gaze drift those few moments ago he would think he's been stuck in some kind of trance. He hasn't shut the door. He hasn't even set the coffee down. Sam is pretty sure he hasn't even taken the time to blink. The younger brother quickly concludes that all those factors rolled up into one are probably not a good thing. A silent Dean is always the deadliest kind.

Uncomfortable. Tense. Those two words echo around in Sam's head. Okay, time to get the show on the road already. He can't stand the quiet. Time to face the music. Fess up. Bite the bullet and get the yelling match officially started. It's obvious that Dean is waiting for him to make the first move. When Sam sees a slight raise of his brother's eyebrow he knows that's all the confirmation he needs. After all, Sam is the one with a whole lot of explaining to do. He takes a deep breath and gets ready to tango.

"I know you are pissed Dean and I don't blame you but... it's just... I am worried about you. Don't you see what is going on? You are hiding things from me. You won't admit that you have a problem. But, although I went about it in the worst possible way, and I am sorry for that, I don't think you can deny it anymore."

Sam pauses when he realizes his voice is slowly starting to rise in octave. Sure, he's nervous but he can't stop now. He can't let Dean out of this. Not this time. His brother remains silent so Sam takes in another shaky breath and continues on. Pandora's box is now officially open so let 'er rip.

"I know you are hurting Dean and using this shit to ease the pain but you can't keep going like this. You need help. Booze _and_ pills? You are smarter than that man, you know it's only gonna make whatever you are going through that much worse. You keep this up and you will crash and burn. And you know it."

Okay. It's out. He did it. Sam feels slightly relieved that he made it through that without being interrupted by a blow to the head or something. He keeps his eyes trained on Dean and watches his head tilt a bit to the side, as if he is busy trying to process what just came out of his younger brother's mouth. Great. Sam can't be absolutely sure but he thinks he just heard a growl. A damn growl for cripes sake. Crap. So much for approaching the topic all calm and rational like. It's a safe bet that both those notions have just fluttered their way out that open door.

Sam is unnerved. And unsettled. He can't shake the feeling of doom that is coursing through him. Like when you know something bad is going to happen but you just don't know when. Sam's pulse starts to race and he compulsively rubs his sweaty hands along the fabric of his jeans. He just wants his brother to do something. Anything to get this dance party started.

"Come on Dean. Please. Say something. Hell, throw something. Yell. Anything. Just, please. No matter how pissed off you are at me right now you can't avoid this forever. You... we need to talk about this."

"Sorry Sam. Kinda hard to talk when you have a knife jammed into your back."

It comes out low and quiet but Sam detects the anger and disappointment that resides in his brother's words. Okay, at least he is talking. That's a start.

"Okay, right, I totally deserved that. But, I am worried. You are all over the place lately. I don't know what you are going to do next. I thought.. Dean, I was sure you took off to... to..."

"To where Sam? Huh? INTO MY DAMN DUFFEL BAG?"

Sam can't help but scoff at that.

The younger brother realizes a bit too late that he should have tried harder to keep from making that noise. Huh. Sam isn't sure he has ever seen that particular hue of red displayed on Dean's face before. No. Wait. Scratch that. The colour seems to be changing, evolving right before his eyes. Damn it. His brother's face now seems to be sporting a dangerous shade that is quickly approaching purple. Double crap. Purple? Well, that just can not mean a brotherly hug is on the horizon. More like a well placed fist to the face.

"The bar Dean. I thought... I thought you went to the bar."

Sam waits for the inevitable. For the coffee to go flying and for Dean to charge at him, fists revved up and ready to go. But again, it just doesn't happen. The colour slowly diminishes from Dean's face and a shiver crawls its way up the length of Sam's spine. Dean is looking at him but his eyes are unreadable. Empty. He watches Dean slowly shake his head and finally move to put his parcels down on the counter. Sam's eyes remain fixed on his brother as he rests his hands on the ledge, as if it is suddenly the only thing that is keeping him upright and grounded.

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. Poor, misguided, doesn't know what the frick he is talking about Sammy. Always trying to save me. And never knowing how. You have no idea do you? How could you I guess. You just... you just couldn't do it. Couldn't let me have one little moment of peace. Of happiness. No, of course not. What the hell was I thinking? I don't deserve happiness. No matter what I do or say. No matter how many people I help or save it's just never enough. I'm not worthy of that one emotion. Not ever. But, that's okay, I just had a little lapse you know? Just had one moment where I thought I could escape the torment for a minute. But I should have known better. It's my own damn fault you know? I'll never...forget it... it doesn't matter..."

Sam can't tell whether Dean is directing his words at him or just mumbling away to himself. Either way those words sting. A lot. Like a knife through his heart. He suddenly feels the need to rush over to Dean. To grab hold of him and never let go. Sam can see how much he is hurting. He can see it in the way he has his eyes clenched shut. In the way the grip he has on the counter has made his knuckles go white. The way he continues to shake his head. He can hear it in his voice. The pain. The anguish. The guilt and worthlessness that consumes him.

The youngest Winchester takes this as a sign. That maybe his brother is ready to talk. Well, maybe not ready, but Sam is encouraged at how easily Dean seems to be rambling on right now. Maybe this is as good of a chance as he is going to get. To get him to open up. When Dean is vulnerable. Sam takes one step towards his brother but halts his progress when Dean turns to face him. Whatever moment of weakness Sam had just been privy to, it is now gone. Dean no longer looks fragile or on the verge of breaking into pieces onto the floor. The look Sam sees now is fury. He unconsciously takes another tentative step. Only this time, he steps back.

"You know, I never thought I asked for much in this life. Some laughs. Some hot chicks. Some fun. I mean, that's not bad right? But, the one thing that I hang on to, above all that other crap, the thing that gets me through the day is something else. Trust Sam. That's the name of the game in this pathetic, messed up, wasteland existence called life. And you? You just continually test my trust in you. And fail. Time and time again. I mean come on bro, I can't even leave my personal shit in your general vicinity without that trust being broken? You just can't help yourself. So tell me, if I can't trust you with the contents of my damn bag then how can I trust you enough to tell you about the hell I have seen?"

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, willing himself to just let the words roll off his back. He'll put up with the twisted rant of his brother's. He won't fall for the bait. Won't get into an argument about trust of all things. He knows Dean. And he knows his brother is pulling out all the stops to throw the topic neatly away from himself and land it into Sam's lap. But the younger of the two won't cave to it. He knows beyond a doubt that Dean trusts him. He is just searching for some excuse to clam up. He wants Sam to think that the only reason he refuses to discuss his time in Hell is not because he doesn't want to, but because of Sam. Nice try bro but your younger brother is not buying the pile of shit that you are so desperately trying to sell him.

"Nothing to say huh? Well, I guess that just proves my point. Is this what you call help Sam? Well, let me make this perfectly clear even for someone who seems to live in a fantasy world full of rainbows and unicorns. I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP! There isn't going to be a happy ending here Sam so just let me do what I need to in order to survive! Save the speeches and the puppy dog looks and the idea that you can fix me the hell alone. You can't. There is nothing you can do. I am as fine as I will ever be. I am dealing with it. Like I always do. Alone. So just save your rose coloured view of the world for the orphans and the naive. I can't take it anymore."

Sam is still sorting through the fractured information that just spewed out from his brother when Dean moves. Fast. He heads right towards him and Sam readies himself for the punch. And he will take it. Because his brother is not right. He is off. And if he needs to throw a few punches then so be it. If that is what it will take to keep him talking, to keep him in the same room as him, then it is a small price to pay.

Dean is right in his face but instead of taking a swing at him he brushes right past. In the moment it takes Sam's brain to register the goal of that particular move, it's too late. Dean has maneuvered his way by his brother to the nightstand. He has grabbed the keys and Sam knows he is on the verge of storming out of the motel room. Which is exactly what Sam has been trying to avoid this entire time.

As Dean walks past him going the other way, keys firmly in his grasp, Sam darts out his hand and grabs hold of his brother's arm. This time he isn't expecting it so when he is rewarded with a left hook to his jaw Sam reels from the surprise and sting of it. He loses his grip and balance and ends up slamming into the damn nightstand. His vision blurs briefly and he can feel an instant headache start to worm its way into his head. He looks up towards his brother and can see the scowl on his face. Not good.

"Sorry Sam but even you have to admit you deserved it. Big time. I need some space. Some time away. Away from you. And stop looking at me all concerned, I think I have earned some time off after your little episode of 'when big brothers go bad'. Oh yeah, by the way, help yourself, I brought you a coffee and some fricken pie! God. I was feeling so good when I got back here Sam. Man, I haven't felt that good in ages. And just look what it got me. Nothing! Just another damn speech about how off the rails I am. Another lecture in a constant stream of lectures. Another let down. Damn it! Why did you have to go poking your nose where it doesn't belong? Why couldn't you just leave it alone? For one damn day? You just keep poking and prodding and getting in my face. I just... I hope your little scavenger hunt was worth it man."

"Dean. Wait. Please, I'm sorry. Just don't leave. Let's talk about this. Please."

Sam cringes at the sigh that escapes Dean just then. He is really going to lose it. And soon.

"You just don't get it Sam! Talking is the absolute last thing I want to do. I'm through. I'm done. And don't follow me because I am so far beyond talking to or looking at your damn face right now. I need to cool off before I decide to kick your backstabbing ass into next week. Don't worry, I'll be back, but not until I'm damn good and ready!"

And with that Sam watches Dean walk out the door and slam it so hard that the putrid pictures on the walls of that shitty room reverberate from the shock. Sam slowly straightens up from the position he had taken against the wall, lowers himself to the bed and sighs. He reaches up to his temples and tries to massage away the pounding that throbs in his head. He hears the rumble of the Impala's engine come to life in the distance and the squeal of her tires as Dean races away from him. From the truth. It's no mystery where his brother will end up. If Dean hadn't been thinking of running away to that damn pub before, Sam is sure that is where the car will lead him now.

And that is where Sam will find him, whether he wants to be found or not.

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_**TBC.. And yes, in the next chapter Dean FINALLY makes it to the bar! YAY! :)**_


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello! Just an FYI, I felt the urge to write a chapter for this story but this came out pretty quickly, in about half an hour, so I am not sure how good it will be. I am hoping as always that it will be at least mildly entertaining. :) Reviews would be awesome of course! Thanks for reading and double thanks to those who are so kind to send reviews my way, I appreciate it super amounts! ENJOY!**

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Dean's foot is placed firmly on the accelerator; it presses further and further to the floor as he escapes the parking lot and the fact that he actually just punched his brother in the face. He sees some of the folks he spotted earlier; the kids; the couple; and he suddenly finds that he hates them all. His breath comes out in short bursts and by the way his blood is pumping and his heart is beating, he half expects it to come charging through his chest just like in that damn movie.

He twists and wraps and beats his hands on the steering wheel in an effort to transfer some of the spiral of emotions that run rampant through him outward and into his baby instead. He is beyond pissed off. And he feels guilty. And he is so damn… thirsty. He was in such a rush to get away; to clear his head; to stop the interrogation and potential for a major chick flick moment that he didn't even bring his damn cup of coffee. But now, even if he did, he knows that ain't gonna cut it. Not anymore.

Damn it. It just isn't fair. He has one thing, one little insignificant thing that he uses to help him and his stupid brother has to blow it way out of proportion. Typical Sammy behaviour; looks for a problem where there is none; has to psychoanalyze it to fricken death. What does Sam expect him to talk about anyway? Sam thinks he wants to know but Dean knows better. He hasn't seen Hell, he doesn't know. He didn't watch while his own skin, his own flesh, was filleted strip by agonizing strip, just to be dropped to the ground like the gristle off a damn steak. He didn't torture people and enjoy doing the same thing to them. So no, Sam does not understand. And Dean is not about to fill him in on what kind of monster his brother truly became.

Dean begins to feel better, well, not about the things he has done but about the justification he has for the solace he can find with a good stiff drink. He doesn't have a problem, although he is starting to get irritated by the nagging voice in the back of his head. The one that feels the incessant need to tell him if that was indeed the case he wouldn't have stormed off. But it's not that. It's Sam. He was on the verge of delving into his ultra girly mode, which would include the want and need to talk about feelings. And the last thing Dean wants to do, ever again, is feel. Plus, Sam deserves to stew in his own juices for a few hours. He broke his trust the second he decided to root through his big brother's stuff. And he isn't capable of believing what Dean has been telling him; that he is dealing with it. So screw it. And screw Sam. Dean is fine. He is… fine.

Shit. There is that voice in his head again. Maybe Sam is right. Dean tells himself to shut the hell up and screeches the tires around a bend in the road. He looks through the rear view mirror and admires the plume of dust that his slight off road driving creates in its wake. Ah, there is nothing like barrelling down a country road to get the thoughts in his head under control.

A few minutes later and a deep sigh escapes him. Shit. He wants a drink, or something, just to take the edge off. To get his focus back on anything else but the desire to have a drink in the first place. The thought rolls around and around in his head and before he realizes it he is stopped at the side of the road, his hand searching with purpose through the glove compartment. And then the console. And then the back seat. The front seat. Under the seat. Through the glove compartment again.

Now he is outside with his body halfway into the damn trunk. He slams the trunk door in frustration and anger and leans heavily against it. His baby doesn't even have what he needs. Frick. What he needs is still back in the room, in the grasp of his privacy breaking, 'it's for your own good' bullshit spewing brother. He slides down to the ground and leans against the side of the Impala. His blood pumps loudly in his ears. His nerves are wound so tight he feels the strain in every muscle of his body, like he is ready to blow into a million pieces. He forces himself to shut his eyes and take a few deep breaths. He tells himself it's okay. That he is okay. Everything is okay. He doesn't need it, not really. He can get by just fine.

Then again, maybe not. He fidgets and wrings his hands. He notices his left leg start to bounce on the spot. It's just nerves and anger and betrayal he feels, nothing more than that. As he lifts a hand to wipe off a suddenly present and driving him to the brink of madness bead of sweat as it tracks down his face, even he has a hard time trying to explain or ignore the tremor that is coursing through it. His hand is shaking and he can't control it. His hand is fricken shaking! Damn Sammy, this is all his fault. His brother can rile him up more than any monster or demon ever could, and it rattles him until he feels like…well, like this. This is Sam's fault, not his.

Back in the car, Dean looks across to the passenger seat and notices the strewn about contents of the glove box. Okay, maybe he can't blame his brother for that. Crap. Dean knows it is a bad sign when he can't remember in any great detail the search he conducted on his own car. Maybe he should go back. Maybe he should listen to Sam for once. Maybe. He closes his eyes again and just the thought of talking about it, about his time in Hell, unleashes a myriad of horrific scenes behind his eyelids. No damn it. He can't. At least not yet. It's too fresh and too painful and too much to subject his brother to. He won't do it. The picture in his head of Sam, of how he imagines he would react to hearing about it, is what drives Dean to start up the car once again and rumble down the pavement towards Paradise.

He reaches the town and instantly spots a large crowd gathered down the road. Curiosity compels him to meander his way through the street, through the throngs of people crossing the road, and scope out the scene as he slowly drives by. He passes by at a snail's pace until he catches a glimpse of what has everyone's attention. There it is, like some kind of beacon. The Paradise Pub, in all its glory.

Weird. As his focus drifts to the surrounding street he doesn't see a soul. Not one person anywhere else. The only activity in this whole damn town seems to be located outside the doors of the pub. People stand there and wait. There is a long line and it keeps getting longer as he watches. His hunter instincts scream at him to keep driving; to go back to the motel; to forget what happened earlier and get Sam to help scope this out with him; that this is most definitely some kind of hunt. But he doesn't do any of those things. He pulls his car to the curb. He shuts off the car. He gets out. He starts to walk over. Double weird. He can feel his mouth start to water; the promise of getting his craving satisfied tumbles around through his senses and spurs his movements on.

As he passes by the bar he looks through large windows that seem to take up most of the outside wall. There must be ten employees gazing out towards the crowd. They seem to scan each person as they arrive. He tracks his eyes along the perimeter of the window, to the crowd, and back again. And then he flinches. Because now, every pair of eyes of every employee on the other side of that damn window are focused on one thing. Him.

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**TBC... Reviews are golden dontcha know! ;) Thanks for stopping by!**


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